The beta is mid-conversation with an older omega—elegant, polished, probably some board member’s twice-divorced sister. She’s got long nails and a laugh like champagne, the kind of woman who thrives in country clubs and whispers about scandals over martinis.
The pair are leaning in close, heads almost touching, like they’re sharing secrets.
Myrick’s good at that. Drawing people in. Making them feel like the center of his solar system long enough for them to forget how sharp his mind really is.
He laughs at something the omega says and his gaze flickers up and he immediately finds me. That easy, wide grin spreads across his face, and he waves like we’re high schoolers in a cafeteria instead of two grown men surrounded by linen napkins and overpriced cocktails.
I tap my watch in response, a silent reminder that we won’t be here much longer.
Myrick gives me a dramatic pout before turning back to his conversation. And I stifle a laugh.
I make my way toward the restaurant, where Jannis is already flagging down the server like he owns the place.The alpha orders his usual scotch—double, neat—and gives me a long, expectant look.
“Club soda,” I say without hesitation, taking my seat and loosening my collar. I’m so hot.
Jannis snorts. “Come on, Rhett. Don’t tell me Autry’s got you on a leash.”
I smile like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t piss me off every time someone talks about my omega, like she’s the nagging ball and chain.
“She’s got good taste,” I say. “And she’d probably prefer I don’t come home smelling like the bottom of a bottle.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Hell, if that’s what keeps the peace.”
I nod, letting him ramble. Letting him think I’m whipped. It keeps the focus off the truth.
Because what Iwon’tsay—what I’ll never say here—is that I don’t drink anymore because I live with an alpha who’s clawed his way back from the edge of addiction. That I don’t drink because if Oli walks past me and smells scotch on my breath, it might tear open something he’s worked too hard to stitch shut. I could never do that to him. Even if he is a cocky ass.
That’s not Jannis’s business. It’sours.
So I smile. I let the man think whatever the hell he wants while I count the minutes until I can go home.
“Alright, Rhett.” Jannis leans back in his chair, his voice shifting into business mode. “My lawyers are happy with the packet your team sent over,” he says casually, as if this isn’t the single biggest deal of my life. “Everything looks clean.” He sounds impressed. “We should be ready to move forward within the next few weeks.”
I sit a little straighter, tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying loosening in my shoulders.Finally. After all thelate evenings, the sleepless nights, the blood I’ve poured into this company—it’s nearly off my back.
“Excellent,” I say, and I mean it. “Glad to hear it.”
He grins. “You’re about to be a very rich man without a single thing to do with your mornings.”
I give him a quiet smile.
“What are you going to do with yourself?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Sleep, maybe. Cook more. Fix the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom.” I laugh, but I’m already planning all the trips I want to take my pack on.
I’ve been thinking about the coast lately—somewhere quiet, where you can hear the waves through open windows. Or maybe the mountains. Somewhere far enough away that the rest of the world stops knocking. Somewhere we can breathe.
“I’ve always dreamed of building my own house,” I say, the image coming easily now—a small log cabin, filled with warmth, love, and fat-cheeked babies toddling around.
Jannis snorts. “Every alpha wants to build a damn log cabin.”
I glance at him, surprised he guessed it.
He grins. “Us city boys all hit that phase in our forties.” He laughs, deep and familiar, and I can’t help but smile.
“Maybe it’s a silly dream,” I admit. “But what’s the point of retiring if you’re not planning projects you never intend to finish?”
Jannis lets out a full, belly-deep laugh, tipping his head back. “Very true, son. Very true.”
